


Testing Patience

by crush (beekeepercain)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Winchester, Foreplay, Gentle Sex, Lap Sex, Light Dominance, M/M, Slow Sex, Top Dean Winchester, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4993405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/crush





	Testing Patience

* * *

 

If this was sex, it was the strangest sex that Dean had ever had - and he’d had plenty of strange sex in his life. The usual waymarkers were there, so it should have been obvious; his body joined near seamlessly with Sam’s as the taller man sat on his lap with his legs holding onto his thighs and hips, rocking softly over Dean’s length with his lips parted. They were face to face, as much as they could be with neither of them actually  _facing_  each other, as if the movie on the TV both of them were in fact looking at was too interesting to drop. There was the occasional heavy breath, a half of a moan, a stretched period of time with one of them pressing their eyes closed as a spark of pleasure struck particularly deep just in the right spot. But that was about it. There was no rhythm to it, no fire and no flame, even though calling it completely passionless would have been a misunderstanding. It just wasn’t…  _sex_ , didn’t quite earn the credentials.

It had started out as weird as it went on, heralding the unorthodox way it would go on afterwards. They’d been there, just resting close to one another without speaking, stuck on a marathon of movies that wasn’t about to end for another twenty hours. Dean’s hand had slipped down Sam’s body from his chest to his stomach, and Sam had held it there for half an hour or so. He’d pushed it down his body when he’d finally reached to rub at his face and then never rejoined their fingers: Dean had come to his own conclusions, started playing around with the waist of Sam’s jeans. He’d undone the belt as if jokingly, then pushed his hand down over the front of Sam’s boxers and simply left it there, probably expecting some kind of a slap or a tug or an annoyed vocal cue to call him off for it. It never happened, so his hand stayed; over the course of the next fifteen minutes, he got the chance to feel an extremely slow version of his brother’s cock filling up underneath his touch. There was none of the usual blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of lack of transition there - it hit all the milestones on the way, almost as if Sam was deliberately showing him each extra inch of his sex he could muster up. All the while the man himself seemed… almost like he wasn’t noticing it at all, like the palm cupping his cock meant nothing to him, or rather like it was just affection like any other. 

His cheeks grew flustered by the end of the first film and his lips parted, and Dean found himself looking more at his little brother than the flick that was starting up next. He missed the first third of it completely with his hand finally moving, teasing, between the two layers of clothing it was trapped by. He practically memorised each curve of Sam’s erection, the shape of his balls, the tight bend between his crotch and his thighs, fingers dipping where it was warm and then escaping back out to draw lines with the heat he’d gathered. Little by little Sam kept opening his legs up for that touch, still like he wasn’t even aware of it, until he finally reached down and pushed off his jeans completely, leaving Dean with just his underwear underneath his palm. He moved under that layer quite quickly, wary of the cool air that disturbed the warmth he’d grown so used to by then.

It could have been a normal handjob, if on the slower side, if Sam hadn’t climbed up from the couch and left Dean sitting there feeling cold and confused.

“Take your clothes off,” he’d said when he came back, holding lube in one hand and his shirt in the other.  
He cast the latter on the back of the couch, seeming immune to the chill that had to be caressing his skin by then.

Those were the last words spoken since an hour ago now. Sam had prepared himself while Dean was torn between wanting to know what the hell was happening on the screen and between, well, being completely unable to look away from the way Sam was working himself open - he’d still expected a quick fuck, something to stop all the nonsense that had been dragging on like the laziest foreplay of the century for almost two hours by then. Everything had been as per usual, except for the quite intimate position Sam had chosen, when he’d felt his brother sinking over his cock and settling there, and their eyes had been locked and they’d both had that distinctive blush upon their features. Then, simply, nothing else had happened. Sam had sighed, closed his eyes for a moment as his body adjusted to the thickness filling it up, and when he’d opened them again, he’d turned back towards the TV. Just like that. No words, nothing. Dean had tried to rock into him, but a firm hand had landed over the curve of his hip with a very clear message: don’t.

Maybe it was revenge. Revenge for what, Dean wasn’t entirely clear on: perhaps simply for turning that completely innocent, lazy movie night into a sex thing (again). But it hadn’t been intentional, and this didn’t feel like a punishment. The longer it went on (and the less he was aching with need and more just kind of halfway into it), the more he felt like there was  _some_  purpose and reason to it. He was long past actual arousal, and the only thing that kept him hard was the slow movement of flesh surrounding him and the occasional tightening of muscles around it that could still easily make him growl. Yet there was another feeling that he was chasing - something almost similar to what he briefly experienced with physical affection in general, a rush of comfort that just now wasn’t going away anymore. He could close his eyes and leave his mind to concentrate on that, and he didn’t have to look for it long before it was enveloping him, as if a part of him was tied to Sam in a whole another way than the obvious physical connection they shared. And the silence of his brother as he sat still, muscles already trembling from the strain he’d put on them over the past hour yet somehow unaffected by that in his dedication to whatever his reasons for this were, carried a certain sense of holiness to that connection that Dean couldn’t shake off even though he didn’t know what to make of it.

He’d learned that placing his arms around Sam was alright, and that caressing his face while he was still watching the movie was encouraged: Sam would lean to his touches, hips moving as if in a reward for him but Dean was almost certain that it wasn’t intentional or planned, but rather just an instinctive response to being touched in the way that Dean was touching him. The strangest part was that Sam was  _never_  gentle like this; he was a semi-literal beast in bed, all nails and teeth and low growls, and he flourished when his hips were marked with bruises and his partner’s body with the lingering ghosts of his touches and the way he held them close. It wasn’t usual to have him so quiet, that was Dean’s part; it was Dean’s job to tell him to tone it down, to come to him instead, to let go and relax and  _feel_. 

Perhaps this was a way he showed that he’d learned - learned what Dean liked, and as per usual, that he could even mix that with his own way of doing things, which was more about overdoing than anything. Overdoing… only that it never felt that way when it came from him. That uncharacteristic aggression was so innate to him in its seemingly paradoxical nature that Dean had never questioned it. But whatever this was, Dean didn’t dare to ask; it felt as if he would have intruded on something, broken the magic that they’d accidentally woven around their union and which now held them there much like their bodies had begun melting together.

The tide turned when Sam reached for the remote, just as silent and determined to keep Dean in the dark as he’d been the whole time. Without the TV’s light, the room was almost pitch black dark for a fading eternity: when the faint light from the curtain-covered window finally started illuminating their shapes again, Sam had already marked his presence by turning from what could barely be called movement to slow, deep rocking instead. He covered Dean’s whole length with each movement, daring so far along his shaft towards the tip that Dean noticed he was holding his breath expecting to slip out any minute, but it never happened; whether that was skill or pure luck didn’t really matter, he appreciated it nonetheless.

Sam’s hands wound around his arms near his shoulder, their grip tight enough to make sure he felt them at all times, but when Dean dared to let his own wander over his brother’s body, they didn’t restrict his movement or imply in any manner that it was forbidden. For a long while Dean held back from rocking back towards him when he moved away, but eventually the pleasure that was gathering within his stomach pushed him into it, and when he thrusted up - body shaking from knowing that he’d be pushed back down and possibly punished for it - nothing came out of it. Nothing but a blinding rush of euphoria hitting him right where he needed it: he joined the movement and noticed that it was much more uniform than was usual for them, and that there was no fumbling around for turns, for pace or for anything at all. It was smooth, rhythmical, almost like their bodies had held it within them this whole time, and it washed him over so throughoutly that he was left gasping for air, back bending over the arm rest of the couch behind him. His legs trembled as he pushed his hips up and met Sam’s body half-way through the movement, and he was buried in so deep he realised they’d never gone that far before. It should have  _hurt,_ but there was no sign on Sam that it did - no clenching of muscles, no tension, no expression on his face beyond that teasing little smile that he’d very recently adopted.

The younger brother leaned down, and Dean found his own head tipping to kiss him, but Sam avoided his lips and moved for his neck instead. Dean could feel a hint of teeth again, but it wasn’t enough to count for anything: it turned smoothly to lips and tongue, the latter drawing circles and spirals over his skin towards his ear until Sam was sucking on it. The sensation made Dean feel dizzy and breathless - his body was arching up towards his brother to feel more of him at once, all of him if he only could, and his hand was tugging at Sam’s hair and his other hand was dragging its fingertips over his back as if mockingly clawing him without using the slightest bit of his nails to leave marks. He wanted to kiss Sam somewhere, anywhere would do, but at the same time there was something intoxicating about his head hanging over the arm rest, neck bared and vulnerable with the other bent over him. It made him feel oddly small in comparison, fragile in a way he was completely unused to, but it wasn’t a bad feeling to be dominated like that. He’d never felt that way with Sam before, not once, even though by the younger’s sheer size he perhaps should have. And now that it happened… he didn’t want to get out of it. He didn’t want to resume being the strong one, the one whose job was to protect Sam. There was nothing to protect him from now - Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t completely sure if he didn’t need some of that for himself. For what reason, he couldn’t tell, but the feeling was so throughoutly satisfied by Sam’s presence against him now that it didn’t even matter.

Perhaps it was the time they’d taken, but it was hard to tell where his orgasm began. It built up so steadily, never shying away like it often did when they had sex the _usual_  way. He knew it was coming, but he didn’t pay attention to it: his senses were completely overwhelmed by Sam’s mouth turning to his, joining them together and caressing him as throughoutly as he’d been with everything else thus far. But he knew exactly and when Sam had his: it made the man tremble throughout, dragged a long whimper from him and left him shaking with his body clamping down on Dean and with thick, warm, heavy come spread all over the older brother’s stomach and chest. It was that which tipped Dean over, too; not immediately like sometimes happened, but in a prolonged way where each and every pulse of his muscles was a step towards that destination, each movement toned by the trembling of his body like a river’s course headed for an open ocean. It was almost painful when it happened, blinding; Dean wasn’t sure if he remained entirely conscious through it, but his was quiet, a shaky gasp cut in half by the sheer magnitude of the feeling in him suddenly collapsing and spreading to his limbs, hot and soothing until all strength was ripped away from him. He was still inside Sam, a notion that never let go of him and to which he held onto with his whole being, and he remained there for a while even after his eyes finally opened and he could see the tease from Sam’s smile turning for affection, weary and satisfied but more than anything fond and loving. It wasn’t by choice that he finally became a single entity again - biology worked against his wishes on that.

“Had a good stretch there, huh,” was the dumb comment that he managed to push out when Sam finally gathered himself from Dean’s lap and tried to stand up, legs trembling so badly that even in the low lighting Dean picked up on it immediately.

He could feel it against his own legs when Sam was still moving, and the thought of it gave him a strange sense of satisfaction.

Sam chuckled, shook his head and let out a long sigh.  
“I think I’m just - going to shower sitting down.”

“Yeah, I think - think that’s a good idea, Sammy.”

“Wanna come?”

“Again?”  
A judgemental silence followed Dean’s words.  
“Fine. Yeah. Give me a second to get up first, I think you buried me in here pretty good. You get heavy after a while, you know.”

“You don’t have to tell me that.”  
As if for emphasis, Sam ran his hands down his thighs and grimaced.  
“This is going to hurt like hell tomorrow.”


End file.
